Relieve the Gloom
by journeyintonight
Summary: UPDATED!“Daisies or Gillyflowers? What do you think, love?” Rated for language. Enjoy & Review!
1. Introduction

N/A: Ok, first Sweeney Todd FF. YAY! And it's a Sweenett! Have mercy, please. English is not my first language but I had to get this out... _You know me... bright ideas just pop into me head, and I keep thinking... _as dear Nellie would say!

I own nothing. All belongs to Sondheim and Burton.

Constructive criticism is always welcome! Enjoy!

"Good morning, Mr. T!" Said the baker in a cheery tone. Her skirts fluttered behind her, as she went into the barber's shop and closed the door with her foot.

Sweeney Todd didn't seem notice her presence. He was by the window, absorved in the polishing of his beloved instruments, his eyes shining with silver flashes, his fingers slowly and almost _lovingly_ caressing the _anatomy_ of the _razor_. His lips barely moved as whispers came pouring down his lips to ease his own blood lust that was already building up.

"Startin' early, I see". Mrs Lovett said glancing at him, his back turned to her. Not that she expected him to turn and greet her...

Again, silence. She sighed, weary of longing and disappointment. _Oh, well..._

She left the tray on the barber's counter. She stared for a few seconds at the cup of tea and the slice of bread on the side. And to think she would find it just like that on the afternoon... Really, the man had to eat before he would become a ghost.

"_Or maybe tha' ship has already sailed, Nellie..."_ she thought, looking at his back. She could almost see the maniac smile painted on his face.

Her brows were knitted together by concern.

"_Some fresh air may do the tick"._

In two ticks she was in the other side of the room, determined to let the breeze in.

"That's better. Ohh, Mr. T, come smell that air. What a beautiful morning! The birds are cooing and the sun is shining positively bright!" she almost giggled.

He lowered the razor for a moment, and looked through the window.

Not that she waited for him to go by her side and smell the beautiful aroma of the spring.

Not that she imagined he would smile at the thought of those little pidgeons going from one tree to another.

Not that she expected his hands playfully covereing her eyes, and to be taken out for a stroll around the block, arms locked, just chatting and laughing while all sorts of multicoloured petals covered the street...

Ahh... but she _did_.

"There's a hole in the world like a great black pit..." he whispered bitterly to himself.

Another sigh. Daydreaming and denial. It would be her end, she often though.

He cleared his thoat, after a rather uncomfortable silence. It made her uneasy.

"Look at me!" she said in a rather high-pitched voice. "Jus' a bit of colour and I end up a bundle of joy, silly me." She mumbled nervously, her fingers running through her clothes and twisting the cloth. "Well, dearie, 'ere's your breakfast. Enjoy it, love!". And with that the door closed, the merry bells ever so out of place.

And then silence. _At last._

Not long after she left, he proceeded to close _that damned window_ with dangerous delicacy. He lingered there for a moment, gazing outside.

Mr. Todd clutched tightly the rag in his hand. With a look of disgust, he stepped back from the window spot.

"Good morning to yourself, Mrs. Lovett" he growled, turning his attention to his deadly visage painted on silver once more.


	2. Pretty Daisies

**N/A: After a massive writer's block and a week full of activity – last friday was my bithday and I'm planning a party to celebrate with my friends; plus next week the classes begin at the University, so I'm getting ready – I return to with the first chapter of what I hope will be many more, but not too many. (I have an idea of what will become of this, but when you write it down, not everything goes according to plan). **

**But, on with the chapter!.**** I hope it's to your liking. Reviews, comments and constuctive critisism are always welcome! **

**Like always, I own nothing. All belongs to Sondheim and Burton.**

**Chapter I: Pretty Daisies**

A silver flash crossed his face as he and his razor approached the neck of the stranger.

_Remember, Ben. Always use long even strokes..._

Expressionless, his eyes followed the blade, as it went up and down the jaw. From time to time he cleaned off the foam and continued.

_A gentle hand plus a steady pulse equals a happy costumer!_

He passed an ice cold hand through the shaved cheeks.

_... be careful not to miss a spot..._

Without saying a word, he scanned the face of the man before him.

_Patience, dear boy. Timing is everything. _

It was the only advise he rememberd his former self recieving that it was actually _worth_ listening to.

He gave one last look.

_Perfect. _

And then that was it.

Red everywhere, heavy breathing through clentched teeth, sticky hands...

Another wonderful job.

"_Not a single nick"_

Of course not!. Apart from the _sliced throat_, the man was in no condition to complain.

"_He certainly is not". _He thought while he watched how the corpse now descended to the abrassive Hell of Mrs. Lovett's basement.

Funny how a fact that use to fill Benjamin Baker with professional pride, was now an excuse for Sweeney Todd's acid humour to revel in the situation.

**The closest chave you will ever know!** Once cheerfully said by Ben Barker's happy costumers, who would never shave at home anymore!.

Now was sneered by one Sweeney Todd, very close to one's ear, to costumers who would never shave... _again. _

He lowered the bloody hands to his side, and let himself fall on the chair, now empty, hot from the heat of the previous sitter. And sighed.

He looked around him, silently. If he concentrated, he could see the memories of the old days emerge from the walls, the floor, the windows, now full of dirt and drips of blood.

He would see a ghost-like Lucy, dressed in vivid colours, greeting politely, with a bright smile. His fingers tickled, as he felt the sudden urge to carress her beautiful face.

She would smile and offer them a cup of tea. Or maybe she would remain sitted in a corner singing softly a lullaby to the little Johanna that was half asleep in her crib. He was sure that he could hear her daughter's soft breathing, as slumber took over her.

He would see a younger version of himself, smiling, with a glint of happiness in his eyes – those eyes full of life, without bags under them. The ghost of Benjamin would invite his costumer to sit confortably and to relax. He was always in the mood for a chat, no matter how trivial.

He would laugh whole heartedly, and between skilled strokes, he would flash a smile to his wife and daughter, and perhaps a wink.

After the costumer was gone, the money on the box next to the razors, and Johanna asleep, Lucy would clean his husband's workplace, while he washed his hands on the vanity by the crib.

She would join him and he would hug her, rejoicing in the pleasure of just holding her, both looking down at their sleeping baby. He would smile, feeling complete, and think that life was a wonder.

"_A bloody wonder"._ His alter ego thought bitterly, now seeing how the ghosts of the Barker family disolved before his very eyes, leaving the room empty and him alone once more.

He stood up, not able to stay still anymore, and went to the counter, where his tools remained, the blade now crissom, not once loosing its elegance.

He motioned to clean them up, but then something else than silver caught his attention.

It was a white daisy that rested by his morning tea, that had remained untouched.

Instead of a razor, he was now holding a daisy. It was so unlike the room. It didn't match with the broken windows, the filthy floors, let alone his own rough hands.

He felt the _softness_ of the petals, as he played with them with his fingers. Why had he done that, it was something that he couldn't express with words. At the sight of the white flower he felt the tickle at his fingertips, the urge of carressing them, as he had felt it before with Lucy's creamy cheek.

He couldn't remember by now if daisies were indeed her favourite flowers. But if not, they should have. So much alike... Both white, pue, so simple, and yet they had a sweetness that captured everyone's eye immediatly. One could not go past a daisy without staring, hoping that the moment to blink never come.

Much like what young Ben had felt that sunny morning that pretty Lucy opened her bedroom window, as her voice danced through the air, in a captivating melody, taking over his senses. He just stared freezed on the spot, suddenly forgetting how to breathe.

His hand left the flower. White petals were now red. He frowned at this.

And remembered, his jaw tensing angrily, that thing that were once pure, never remain such in this world. A cruel world in which he played a part.

_Vengeance._

Yes, that was what occupied his mind, all that mattered, night and day, wasn't it? Oh, yes, to hear the subtle cut of the blade against the flesh, to see the blood flowing through the wooden floor, to see the light of a lifetime of hipocricy leaving their eyes!

... Oh, yes... The daisy dripped blood, as well as his memories, long gone, now dripped the rubbies of his own crimes.

"_Don't you think some flowers, pretty daisies, might relieve the gloom?"_

He remembered the look of Benjamin Barker's face, while looking at his wife and daughter.

He looked up at the mirror in front of which he now standed. He saw himself though a broken glass, lips parted, with a defeated look on his eyes.

And realized just how much everything had changed.

More that Ben Barker's naive little brain could have ever imagined.

Ben Barker.

Benjamin.

Benjamin Barker...

"_That man is dead."_

A man layed in the floor – a dusty floor -, covered in blood, holding a daisy to his heart.

And wept.


	3. Gillyflowers maybe

**A/N: Sorry for the delay. I've been terribly busy with homework and... well, life. Read, review, and Enjoy!**

**As always, I own nothing. All belongs to Sondheim and Burton.**

Relieve the Gloom – Chapter II: Gillyflowers maybe

"_Gillyflowers maybe, instead of daisies..."_

The slice of bread fell to the floor. Mrs Lovett realized it and picked it up. She blew the dirt away and arranged it once again on the side of the cup.

"Wot's the difference? Not that he's eatin' it anyways..." she murmured under her breath.

She lifted the tray and was ready to take it up stairs, when something she saw left her frozen up on the spot.

"Flowers!"

She felt as if she and her tray were transported many years in the past, and she felt lost in her own memories.

How could a simple thing – so simple – make her, a practical sensible woman, feel so overwhelmed?

Hopelessly, she sighed at the sight of the blossoms in front of her.

She remembered how young men in love used to buy a pretty little flower for their beloved. She saw thousands of lovers repeating this scene too many times, from behind her shop's window...

But Albert wasn't – just _wasn't_– the courting type. At least, he'd never bought her flowers. Although, she remembered he had given her a blueberry pie, once... that ended up mostly in his stomach anyways.

Nellie longed for a flower of her own. She always swooned when the florist passed by the shop, she even screamed and shout how she'd love a new flower at least to make the parlour nice and warm and welcoming...

But Albert was too absorbed in his calculations, dealing with costs, and deadlines and...

As all men are. Work blinded all of them.

"_Ooh, but not ALL of them!" _

Benjamin Barker didn't fall in that lot, for sure. When the florist passed by, she would hear a minimal sigh from up stairs, that obviously belonged to his little blond angel-wife, and in no time he'd be down, outside the front door, smiling and waving to the florist girl to buy her a dozen daisies. He had been known to leave a costumer waiting to do so!

What would she have not given for one of them? For half of his smile at the sight of her wife's eyes bight with satisfaction and delight?

But that look was long gone, lost in a madwoman's bloodshot eyeballs. And the smile was erased, ripped from his now dry lips, curved now in a smirk of bitterness.

"Ma'am? Would you like one?" smiled the young man, taking of his hat and showing her the basket.

How she had longed to hear this question, and to answer it!

And for a moment, she imagined Ben Barker's eyes, boring into her own, his smile looking for her own lips to curve into one.

Blushing without caring, and feeling like she was nineteen again, she voiced what she had heard too many times from others and practiced always in her head:

"Very much."

--

He was staring at the window when she came up. He heard her leaving the tray and then she was gone.

"_Strange." _

Her insufferable chat was not present today, and it came as a surprise to him.

Would she sad? Depressed? Preoccupied?

Not that he cared.

But was she?

Not that he didn't had enough with his own issues.

What had gotten to her? Maybe she was sick. Or tired.

Not that he wouldn't find out later, by her own lips, whether he was interested or not.

Which he was not.

He continued to stare at the daisy that had not left his hand. His fingers were entertwined with the beautiful flower, possessively, never wanting to let go.

He turned to see his breakfast, his mouth suddenly dry. The cup of tea was fuming there, in the tray.

He considered for an instant. Drinking it would be a serious infraction to his determination of leaving his breakfast intact. And questioning, squeals of joy, and a very insufferable attitude of triumph would take over his landlady.

Deciding that he wouldn't go so far as to change his habit, he would for this once drink at least half of the cup of tea that after all was meant for him.

Yet he never reached the cup. His eyes stayed fixed on the side, however, by a not-at-all-expected sight. A gillyflower.

He didn't remember if he had actually seen one before.

At fist he thought he didn't like it, and for that he saw no point in keep lingering his inspection. But then, he felt himself – somewhat – _drawn_ to linger on it.

And then his fingers.

That feeling in his fingers.

Damn his fingers - they began to twitch.

His fingers of his right hand, those that belonged to the daisy now. He got a hold of his flower, and turned to the window once more, breaking eye contact with his new and strange visitor.

What was all that? How in the world could he be so moved by this simple – _so simple _– thing, when his soul was empty?

He, who had questions and no answers, sighed.

And then a voice at the back of his head awoke.

"_And maybe, just maybe, this ISN'T so simple and your soul ISN'T empty."_

His mind was racing and his throat closed at this strange feeling of being human, vulnerable, and sensitive. He turned again to the gillyflower, never knowing why, but thinking of _her_ as the only one to blame for his new turn in his thoughts and the one who he cannot take from them.

His fingers twiched again.

He had to hold her.

It was compulsory.

He could see himself holding it, his hand softly caressing her petals, soft and welcoming, her strange beauty glimmering between in his hand, her proud figure never ceasing to amaze him by her rare features, particular and enticing.

Before he knew what he had done, he had her.

And then, of all things, she began to sing.

In his bliss – strange and minimum –, it took him a while to realize that it was actually Mrs Lovett's voice from down below.

Slowly he reached for the door and popped his head outside looking inside the shop, not letting the bells ring; not once.

"_Well, there goes her muteness". _

And there was she, twirling and turning like a young girl in her twenties. She looked positevly bright and... happy.

She was happy.

Not sad, nor depressed, nor preoccupied. Not sick, nor even tired.

She seemed so colourful, in her little black and white shop. She had little blossoms pinned to her hair. Her voice was rich and filled all the rooms.

Even _his_ room.

And then he could see – as she was placing a dozen gillyflowers in a vase – how all became alive by her spell... and how the gillyflowers under her touch, with their own purple charm lifted the shadows and took them away.


End file.
